Because
by Kelly123
Summary: be‧cause [bikawz, koz, kuhz] –conjunction: 1.for the reason that
1. Vancouver

I should be doing my homework, and I should be reading my textbook, and I should be working on my project, but I'm not. It's strange how an idea will hit you, and while I was changing clothes in my closet this morning the first line of this story popped into my head. So I pulled out some paper and wrote it down, then jumped on the computer and typed it up. The entire process probably took a whole two hours, so sorry if it has some mistakes or feels rushed. And I know it's pretty short, but that's just how it came to me. Just an angsty little one-shot, from me to you!

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from writing this.

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"Because!" you hear yourself say, but both the word itself and the tone of your voice sound so pathetic that you halfway don't believe they are actually coming from your own mouth.

"Because what Elle?" Marco replies through the phone line, his voice irritated and tense. "Because he's a thousand miles away and in a relationship with another girl? Because you have college and a chance at a whole new life ahead of you, but are still hung up with the boy from last summer? Or maybe, it's because he's a dumb, oblivious guy who is never going to get it, and I am sick and tired of my best friend being reduced to a shambles every time his ignorance comes back to slap her in the face!"

He's right of course, just as you had known he would be, and the speech he delivers is the one you expected, but that doesn't make hearing it any easier.

"I know all that Marco! I know that you think I am some love struck imbecile who can't see how futile feeling like this is, but God, I can't stop. I want to, and I know that I need to, but I just can't!"

"I understand sweetheart," he says, and his voice has softened, the irritation giving way to a frustrated exhaustion, an exhaustion that lets you know he only wants what's best for you. You wish desperately that he were here right now, so that you could curl your legs up underneath you and sink your head into that perfect space between his neck and his shoulder, but you can't. He's visiting Banting with Paige this weekend, and so the sound of his voice through a cell phone will have to do for now. "and in no way could I ever think of you as an imbecile. Of all the people I went to school with who were imbeciles, you certainly never came close to making the list. It's just that I wholeheartedly empathize with you about having feelings for someone that you can't seem to let go of, as much as you would like to. Hello, remember Dylan? And the thing is, I know that you are stronger than this, stronger than I ever was, and I hate it for you to have to experience that kind of an ache. I love you too much to watch you hurting. Because Elle, I know that you are amazing, and smart, and beautiful and unique, even if he doesn't.

"Oh shut up, you big gay." You say, but it's with a smile through the last of your tears, because you've never been good at accepting compliments, and he knows it.

"No, I really mean it! I'm not saying it just because you are having a hard day, and I'm not saying it just to make you feel better, and I'm not even saying it just to get you to return the favor, though to tell you the truth I am not entirely opposed to the idea. I'm saying it because I honestly and truly believe from the very bottom of my heart of hearts that you, Eleanor Nash, are one hell of a woman.

And now the tears have stopped, and that tightly knotted ball in the pit of your stomach has started to unwind. You know the worst of it is over...at least for now.

"Geez!" You exclaim, the slightest hint of sarcasm sneaking back into your tone, "Why can't you just be straight Marco? Why can't you just like girls and marry me, so that we can stop getting our hearts put through a blender by guys and just live happily ever after together?"

He is silent for a moment, and when he answers you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Because."

Then you laugh and he laughs and for a second you forget about the dark-headed musician that had you curled up in a ball on the floor of your closet. You stand and stretch, pushing an old abandoned pair of weathered black combat boots out of the floor in front of you as you make your way back into the light. The boots are from a different time, a different Ellie, and its strange to think of how much has changed since you last put them on. Now you are teasing Marco as your hand makes contact with the smooth metal of the doorknob leading into your bedroom, and at the second you go to turn it the cell phone against your ear chirps with an incoming call. You know who is on the other line without ever having to check the screen, and your hand drops from the knob as if lead is encasing your arm.

"I have to go." You almost whisper to your best friend, and again, your own voice sounds foreign.

"Why?" He asks, immediately noting the shift in your tone and on the defensive.

Your voice cracks a little who you say it, and you press "accept" on the phone immediately after uttering the word, before he has a chance to respond to your pathetic excuse.

"Because."

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Aww, no happy ending! Please don't be mad, and review anyway!


	2. Rehab

_So in continuing on with my rant from "with boots on"(authors hint, READ IT) I'm completely and utterly confused as to where my feelings lie regarding my favorite coupling after Part II of that really long TBS song titled episode. Crellie, ahh! Craig, what an idiot! Ellie, you poor, poor girl! What to do! I hate him, but I still love them, but I don't know if I can forgive him for doing what he did to her, but if he really does love her... I don't know! So I wrote a story about that, about not knowing. And I added it on to an existing one-short because I thought it fit. And that's about it. I don't own Degrassi, enjoy!_

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"Because," you hear yourself say, but your voice is so faint, your tone so frail, your overall being so feeble, that you barely stand to convince yourself, let alone him. 

But, of course, he's not here anymore, so you're the only one left who truly needs the convincing. He's gone, again, that's the reason why you're sitting on your bed, all alone in your room and talking to yourself in the dark. He's gone, and you're not sure just who he'll be when he comes back this time. If he comes back. He's gone, and you're here, sitting and crying and wondering why.

Because he lied to you.

Because he took advantage of your feelings.

Because he's not worth it.

Because he's a cokehead.

Because you love him.

Because he said he loved you too.

Because all the "becauses" in the world don't add up to absolutely anything when his number is lighting up your phone for the third time tonight. When all you want to do more than _anything_ else in the entire world is just snatch the thing up, press it to your ear and listen to his gorgeous voice say those three stupid, beautiful, meaningless words over and over and over again.

Because it's killing you not to answer that phone, but you die a little bit whether you're with or without him, so what is the difference? He has this ridiculously all encompassing hold on you no matter where you are, and you can't for the life of you understand why. You _tried_ to move on, to manufacture a pretty little Craig-less life away at University, complete with trusty best friend, good ole journalism, and a sexy older boyfriend to boot, and you _thought_ it was working. You _thought_ that you were doing perfectly fine without him. You _thought_ so, but it took him all of about two seconds after getting off of that plane to completely shatter that façade and expose it for the sham it really was. And now he's gone and left you to pick up the bleeding pepto bismal pink pieces of your make-believe happiness by yourself.

Because he has his own happiness to try and rebuild. You know he has his own problems, but knowing that does nothing in way of comforting yours.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity your phone stops buzzing and it chimes with the repulsively cheery alert of a voicemail. Your throat tightens at the sound, and it makes you sick because you know you will listen to his message over and over again, searching in vain for any subtle clues in his voice that will let you know once and for all if he was being the slightest bit sincere when he told you those beautiful things...

Or when he kissed you.

Because Craig_ kissed _you. Because even after all of the hours you have spent envisioning every solitary, diminutive detail of what that moment could, maybe, might be like (not that you'd ever admit to doing so, but _of course_ you did), he still managed to take your breath away in a manner you never could have come close to imagining. Because how could you have possibly imagined perfection like that? That indescribable... feeling, that tingle washing over you from head to toe and back again as his lips met yours, his skin touched yours, and his heart, for once, matched yours.

At least that's what you thought.

And _God_, you thought you had to have cried out every last tear left in your body after leaving him at the airport this afternoon, but you must have been wrong, because the very though of the aftermath of that kiss is enough to bring you to your knees. _How dare he_? How dare he toy with your heart like that, the heart he _had_ to have know that he held so helplessly in the palm of his hand? Just fill it up with a kiss and then crush it without a second thought in between his fingers? How did he get so cruel?

How did _everything _get so complicated?

And then on the other hand, (and in some ways this possibility hurts even more to consider, if that's even possible) what if? What if, on some level, somewhere just beyond the drug-induced paranoia, he really meant it? What if he _does_ have feelings for you like you have for him? That kiss... you couldn't possibly have been the only one to feel it, could you? And at the airport, his hand on your face...I mean, God, it was too much to bear.

Because it _was_ beside the point, but still.

You draw your knees up to your chest and resume sharply snapping your rubber bands. Rubber bands you haven't touched since leaving Degrassi, but put back on soon after Manny's revelation made pointy metal objects sound almost too good to resist. You snap, snap, snap as you will yourself not to pick up the phone, not to melt at the sound of his recorded voice, not to let him keep running your life without ever realizing just what the hell he is doing to you.

But you have to wonder, is what he is doing to you even comparable to what he is doing to himself?

Marco raps tentatively at the door to your room and you tell him to come in with a voice weaker than you would like. He enters bearing coffee and you accept the steaming mug gratefully, draping your legs across his lap as he sits down next to you and molding yourself to the contours of his comforting shape. Neither of you speak at first, just sit together in the silent darkness and breathe in the aroma of coffee and each other. And in that moment you know that love is worth it. Because as much as loving Craig hurts, you wouldn't be able to get though any of this if it weren't for loving Marco. Sweet, kind, understanding Marco, who always knows just what to say. Even if the right thing to say isn't saying anything at all.

"You want me to kill him?" he whispers, and you can't help but crack a smile and nod enthusiastically against his chest.

"Please sir, and could you maybe torture him too? You know, make him feel like the bastard he is for breaking my heart?"

"Consider it done, love. No one hurts my Ellie and lives to snort another day."

"Hmph, you'd make a shitty assassin Marco. Bloodstains on your designer mob suit? I don't think so." You retort, and he pretends to scoff at you before you both settle back into comfortable silence.

"Why?" you ask finally, breaking the quiet with a trembling voice, and he knows exactly what you mean without anything else being said.

"You know that answer to that Elle," he says with a sad sigh, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you a little bit tighter. He's right, of course, and you know what he is going to say, but the word hurts your ears just the same when it falls from his lips, your mouth silently forming the letters at the same time his does.

"Because."

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_So this is kind of rambly, but for some reason I just love it. How about you?  
_


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